


This Red Thread

by DelightfulSepsis



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Awkward Romance, Empathy, Eventual Smut, F/M, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, I ramble, Matt the radar technician - Freeform, Red String of Fate, Shared experiences, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Soulmates, These guys are dorks, anyway, defrosting the ice king
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-31 12:03:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10898979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelightfulSepsis/pseuds/DelightfulSepsis
Summary: Soulmate AU:Every individual is born with an emotional and physical connection to their soulmate. Should one injure themselves, the other will feel their pain. Should one cry, the other will share their sadness. This connection is unbreakable, though the intensity of the bond depends upon the distance between them. The closer you are, the more you are bound to them.The red string of fate has bound you to someone since you were born, and despite being a bit cynical when it comes to love and bored by such fairy-tales, you'd always wished you could find that person. Upon becoming a senior officer of The First Order and gaining a position on the Finalizer, you entered the role with the sole expectation of just maintaining your job and keeping your head down (less you endure a repeat of your Academy days).But there's this funny thing about expectations - we so rarely get what we expect. So realising that your soulmate is none other than the intimidating General Hux should have come as no surprise, especially given you track-record for theatrics and drama. If only things could be simple for you. But hey, so much for fairy-tales being boring.





	1. Prologue (Or, how one injured shin changes the way the world spins)

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Authors Note: *awkward entrance* I read a lot of fanfiction and a shameless number of reader-inserts, but I’ve never written a story myself. So, I thought I would give it a go and see how things pan out. I’m quite intimidated by the writers on here as you are all amazing and I am by no means a story teller or a good writer, but I shall do my best and hopefully improve for you all.  A few comments before you start reading. As this is a soul mate AU there may be some OOC moments for Hux. You are his soul mate, so that’s going to make his behaviour toward you a bit different. But I will try not to stray too far and keep a nice balance between plot and character tropes. Also, POV may change in chapters but it will predominantly be yours. I have proof read the best I can but I am terrible at proof reading so I apologise for any errors. Have fun x.

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Important information: (H/C) = hair colour; (H/L) = hair length; (H/S) = hair style; (E/C) = eye colour; (S/C) = skin colour.

 

##  Chapter One: Prologue (Or, how one injured shin changes the way the world spins)

  Armitage Hux had been five years old when he first heard the phrase ‘soulmate’ uttered in passing. The small boy – still wet behind the ears, had been hiding under one of the kitchen tables listening intently to some of the cleaning staff chatter during their break. It had been one of his favourite games back then, the shy child finding happiness in the maids that worked under his father’s imposing rule. He’d wait until what he deemed to be the perfect moment, before jumping out and scaring the women who would shriek in response only to instantly drop their guard and chuckle at the young Hux’s playful behaviour. A tender hand ruffling his copper hair and shared giggles of ‘you little monster’, were one of the few affectionate moments he had in his otherwise lonely little life.

But that day, Armitage had found his small body curling up even tighter in an attempt to remain hidden, worried he might be found too quickly and thus would miss the ladies' conversation.

“I felt it again, you know, it was my shoulder this time.” A dark-haired maid by the name of Merrill had groaned to her friends who only snickered in retort. “I don’t know what this guy’s up too, but damn does he not put a strain on my muscles sometimes.”

“At least you know he is close, Mi.” Lindy - a larger blonde woman, had responded as she clanged around above him, no doubt arranging tea cups and petit fours for his father’s afternoon meeting with the visiting superiors of the Imperial Academy.

“Whatever,” Merrill had huffed as she stomped around the kitchen, her worn work shoes the only thing Armitage saw due to the draping tablecloth that caped around him. “All this soulmate business doesn’t half get old though, I haven’t met one person who’s actually seen theirs yet…it just seems like some form of punishment in the end, don’t it? Knowing there is this person out their meant for you but you can’t bloody find them.” Silence and then another chuckle followed, light and flighty. “But still, imagine it, ladies, just one day meeting this person who you’ve felt all that time, I can’t think of anything more magical.”

 

 

At seven, Armitage had finally dug up the courage to question his father about what it meant to have a soulmate. Merrill and Lindy’s dream-like conversation had embedded itself in him that day - had filled him with awe, and thus his curiosity had only grown over the years; simply his nerves kept him from approaching father and asking out-right before then.

“Daddy.” Still so young and naïve to Brendol’s utter dislike of him, Armitage had enquired innocently one day as he looked up at his dad with shy eyes shielded behind straight orange hair. “What’s a soulmate?” Small hands clasped together behind his back and one ankle twisting inward to rub against the side of his other shoe in trepidation – it had been his most prominent nervous tick and extremely hard to unlearn later on.

Brendol hadn’t so much as faltered as his ‘child’ addressed him, his large claw-like fingers reached out grabbing for the next file on his desk with which he then casually pulled back and began to sweep through. Eventually though, the man had responded half-heartedly, albeit without eye contact or any semblance of interest to the young Hux’s query.

“None of your concern, boy.” The old man’s voice was ever measured and cruel, as if no kind words had ever fallen past his lips and thus the capacity for them had frozen over long ago. “Simply a mechanism of the weak.” Armitage remembered the file being slammed down suddenly on the desk causing a small paper weight to topple over and roll to his feet, the only indication of his father’s scarcely subdued irritation now knocking against his toes; he’d dared not question further and left quickly.

 

 

Of course, during his time at the Academy, Armitage had come to learn more of what having a soulmate meant and its implications upon the self. Despite having zero friends – by choice he had convinced himself, it was hard to miss the near-daily conversations between students in regards to their soulmates antics and possible whereabouts. Now a teenager, it didn’t take much for him to slowly piece together the little bits of information swapped here-and-there and come to a solid conclusion.

It was merely someone you were bound to in an ethereal sense he’d factored, someone whose experiences you also experienced – and extension of you. He was reminded of his time as a child and the phantom incidences of aches on his knees and stings at his elbow, or the sudden onset of a tearful tantrum that left him locked in his room for days on end. Had those sensations not been his own? The young Hux chose to discard those memories as foolish notions and instead poured himself into his studies, ignoring the low ache in his chest that felt like a rock weighing on his heart – ignoring the feeling of missing something he couldn’t remember.

 

 

Over the course of the extensive education that lead up to his initiation in The First Order, Armitage Hux had rapidly deduced that to have a soulmate was indeed as detrimental as it was burdensome; superfluous extra baggage, like spare parts for what was already a perfect system.

A single incident cemented these feelings within him, asserting the long-harboured belief he held like some unquestionable dogma. His assumptions were proven correct the day two of his fellow students fell into each-other’s arms in an appalling display of affection. Despite being behind closed doors and during one of their sporadic bouts of free-time, Armitage deemed the overt act demeaning and a humiliation to the professionalism that should encompass a soon-to-be officer. The two had spoken of shared pain and happiness so openly, their eyes alight with a glow Armitage couldn’t pinpoint the origin of, and upon watching the pair quickly walk away, trying to disguise their elation, he’d muttered simply one thing.

“…weak.

 

 

General Hux’s arms were clasped firmly behind his back as he surveyed the junior officers currently typing away at their stations. His narrowed eyes scrutinised their every action, as if he were waiting for one to screw up and allow him the chance to publicly punish them – no doubt in an entirely humiliating manner given the General’s foul mood. The normally stoic man could not locate the source of this irritation since his usual suspect was currently on a mission and had been absent from The Finalizer for the past week. Hux’s brows furrowed in displeasure as Kylo Ren’s nauseating mask cropped up in his head, somehow the mere rumination of the man adding fire to the already simmering annoyance presently burning in his chest.

 General…” A soft but precise voice directed itself from his right, abruptly snapping Hux out of his daydream. Glancing to the side, he locked eyes with the diminutive lieutenant, the other man’s features soft and yet steady as he addressed him.

“Yes, Lieutenant Mitaka,” the General replied. Though ever careful to keep his emotions in check, Armitage had consistently found it difficult to disguise his frustration; the emotion often leeching to the corners of his mouth and painting an obvious grimace that struck others like an obnoxiously large and flickering warning sign. Mitaka – who had worked closely with General Hux for the past few months, must have read the situation quickly as he upped his guard to avoid accidentally incurring the man’s wrath - a good decision. The tense air and faces of others on the Bridge implied that they actually hoped poor Mikata would be their sacrificial lamb, less they fall under what had been christened Hux’s metaphorical whip themselves. Hus scoffed at such a garish term, though the General inwardly grinned as he wondered how much punishment-by-paperwork it would take for the easily intimidated lieutenant to launch himself into space, fancying the endless expanse of darkness over one more report in need of proofing. His face turned sharp as the smaller man muffled his breathing and held out the data-pad, Mitaka waiting until the General had ripped it from his grip before continuing. “The new senior officers are ready to dock, Sir, do you wish for myself to greet them or-.”

Hux swiped a finger down the data-pad and then held a stern hand in the air to shush the man, his eyes scanning the list of names with little intrigue before tossing the thing carelessly onto a nearby control panel. “I will go, you remain here.” Cutting words and then turning on his heels, the red-haired man strode away, deciding a little distance from the Bridge was exactly what he needed to clear his head. “Oh, and Lieutenant Mitaka,” Hux snagged the smaller man’s attention before exiting, angling his lean body just enough so that they seized each other’s gaze. “I shall hold you accountable for any mistakes made while I am gone, as their superior officer, it is your duty to ensure their proficiency.”

Mitaka’s face pinched slightly in worry as he raised an arm and saluted respectfully to the General. “Understood, Sir.” The doors glidded open and close as Hux swept away, his immediate departure probably causing the tension level in the room to drop significantly. Junior officers took too long to tolerate pressure in his mind.

Despite the niggling unrest in Armitage’s body, his brisk walk down to the docking bay was otherwise uneventful for the first few minutes. Technicians and other menial workers would occasionally look up from their current job to salute him; though there were those that kept their heads down to avoid the striding General. Hux blanked them all, his pale face twisting into a mask of annoyance as he got closer and closer to where the ship would be landing – so much for clearing his head. The feeling was peculiar he thought, and though reminiscent of the small fluttering one might get in their chest and head after standing too quickly, it didn’t match-up enough and felt uncomfortably foreign.

Absorbed in his internal monologue, General Hux found himself slowly beginning to ponder about Millicent's well-being, the affectionate albeit renegade tabby cat that was no-doubt ripping something apart in his quarters, bored with his absence. Armitage would have invested in more toys, had the cat not been completely unimpressed with his prior attempts and instead chosen to make battle with one of his socks. He let out a sigh and pushed the button for the elevator. Honestly, thinking back, he’d never nurtured the idea of having a pet before, finding the prospect somewhat asinine and wasteful. But then one day the desire for a cat just appeared in his head like someone had flicked a switch and after checking the guidelines about keeping animals on-board, he’d taken the first opportunity that presented itself to bring Millicent into his life. Millicent – the General murmured with almost melancholy as he stepped into the elevator, yet another anomaly that had appeared out of thin air; a name he couldn’t recall hearing before.

The elevator descended soundlessly, Hux opting to toy with the edges of his jacket sleeve and remove non-existent bits of fluff from his shoulder while he waited to exit into the docking bay. Finally, the doors opened and the red-haired man could leave what he considered a suffocating and small cage. He’d never admit it, but small spaces didn't sit right with him, the disquiet no doubt arising from times during his childhood where his father would trap him in his wardrobe after he misbehaved – which given his father’s mentality, meant Armitage’s existence itself demanded constant reprimand.Doors closed behind him with a gust of air and the General frowned as he felt the sensation – still present in his chest and stomach, begin to churn into something else. He chose to ignore it for the time being and instead marched over to the ship that appeared to have already landed. He caught sight of the chrome armour of Captain Phasma not too far from the ship, the tall woman patrolling back and forth in front of a gathering of new storm-troopers, her body language and especially stern tone implying that she was about to send them on their first test mission. Peeling away from her so as to not impose on the lesson, Hux’s scowl deepened when his heart suddenly began to beat quicker. What was going on? Laboured breath joined the occasion, the air he inhaled now taking the form of something thicker and harder to swallow. Was he ill? What an appalling prospect.

Calling upon his years of training, experience and overall tendency to try and control every aspect of his being, General Hux stood up straight and quietly observed the figures descending down from the ship. The individuals stepping foot onto the Finalizer for the first time looked around and seemed mesmerised by the grandeur of it, as they should be. There was approximately 50 of them if Hux could recall the list from earlier, a small number at first glance but given their senior status within the Order, they were equivalent to at least 200 lower officers. Remaining still with what he hoped was an air of measure and poise given his current off-beat heart and breathing – wait, were his palms now sweaty, General Hux glared blandly as the group halted into a strict line and saluted him. They were a typical bunch, as was to be expected, and he gave little attention to their individual faces as he surveyed them one by one. He was far more interested in their reaction to him. A lot could be revealed by first impressions.

Despite the General never being one to refuse a grand speech or entrance, this was nor the time nor the place for such displays. Besides, it didn’t hold the level of splendour that was an absolute requirement for him to entertain others longer than necessary - it had absolutely nothing to do with feeling off-keel. Thus, the man just trailed his eyes across the line of faceless soldiers, intending to leave once satisfied by their disposition. That was until he came to one person in particular.

A girl met him, and while she bore the same bland uniform as the rest and fell in line as the rest had, Hux found himself captivated by her face the second he spotted her despite her being objectively unremarkable. (H/L) (H/C) hair framed her face in (H/S), her large (E/C) eyes blinking dumbly at him now that it seemed she’d noticed he was paying specific attention to her; had he not been so attentive, Hux would have missed the soft flush that patterned her (S/C) cheeks.

A far too large stretch of time passed before the General realised he was very obviously fixating on this girl to the point that the other officers - even those not among the group, were attempting to position their bodies in order to get a glance at her also. Hastily acting, Hux snapped to attention and glared fiercely at the group, flinging an arm sharply to the side to gesture them away. “You will be shown to your quarters and issued with your timetables, do not waste my time and longer,” he barked, his heart pulsating in his ears.

Jumping into action, the group saluted and departed with a ‘yes, General’ as they then hurriedly walked away from the odd exchange. Whispers were already being swapped between some of the officers Hux noted as he listened to them leave, theories about what had just happened not hushed enough to go unheard. “Maybe she did something, is her uniform wrong?” One had mused to another. “I didn’t see her salute.” Another added, pining to stir up rumours.

General Hux meanwhile remained still, his body a fixed statue with its arms crossed protectively over its chest. At least it seemed he had escaped judgement and walked away from that decidedly out of character greeting unscathed. The blame was thankfully being thrown upon the female recruit he’d stared down. Well, let them think he was disappointed with her, Armitage would not tolerate his reputation being slandered by such frivolous moments of illness induced fumbling. He was just sick from too little sleep and lack of nutrients and would visit the med-bay after checking up on Lieutenant Mitaka.

(H/C) hair flew into Armitage’s vision as the girl in question walked past, her head bowed as if she wanted to avoid seeing his face, or possibly the attention of her now comrades. The (H/C) strands bounced through the air with impossible elegance and, despite there being a small distance between them, Hux sword he could smell the strawberry of whatever shampoo she used. The scent caused a lump to swell in his throat and a weight to dig itself in his chest and pull his heart down, almost like a-

-she was looking back at him again but still moving, that idiotic nameless girl who’d caused him to make a fool of himself. Pink still decorated her cheeks and her (E/C) eyes were now wider and full of what looked to be either fear or shock - it had better be the former for her sake. Hux frowned darkly at her and was about to insult her for gawking so brazenly when suddenly he spotted the blindly walking girl on a crash course for one of the control panels.

“Watch-.” But it was too late. The girl had walked straight into the instrument causing her left shin to meet the solid metal foundation with a loud clang that echoed throughout the bay, drawing the attention of most people and a few chuckles from others.

“…ow.” She tried to mutely cry, though it came out much louder than Hux guessed she wanted since the laughter in the bay rose. She was somehow remaining up-right, but was now stumbling around on her hobbled leg looking a complete fool. It reminded Hux of the time he’d teasingly put Millicent on the kitchen floor when it was still wet after cleaning, all jittery legs and panicking mewling coinciding – he’d been very entertained. Given the nostalgia, the General would have probably drawn the same amusement from the scene as he watched the girl stumble away in humiliation, had it not been for the very present bruising ache in his left shin.

His arms tightened around his chest and Hux struggled to swallow the lump in his throat that kept appearing, the ringing in his ears almost deafening now as his heart began to sink, the sensation of the rock in his chest pulling it down uncomfortably familiar. “No…” he said in a hushed voice, unwilling to believe this was happening to him of all people and that it was not just a sickness induced hallucination. So preoccupied rationalising himself, the General did not feel his foot shift inward, the front of his left shoe nervously rubbing against the inside of the right. He was back under the kitchen table now, listening to Merrill and Lindy speak their dreamy story, the words he thought he had long since stripped from his mind resurfacing and filling him with one thing – awe.

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Authors Note: Thank you for reading the prologue of this story. I am not 100% sure where it is going at the moment so if you have anything that you’d like to see or any fancies, please leaves a comment and I will see if I can add it in as we go along (this is your story after all). Also, would you prefer shorter chapters but more updates or longer chapters and fewer updates? I don’t have a schedule yet but when I know what you like I can make one.


	2. Chapter 2: Chess, war and shared neurosis – I didn't ask for this either

Authors Note: Thank you so much for all the lovely comments and kudos on the first chapter, honestly, I did not expect a single person to read this and I am so humbled by your support (I still hate everything I write but I am trying). I had a few requests which I am trying to implement so I hope they are to people’s liking (Meg, I hope you like your angst without sugar). I enjoy giving a small semblance of how characters are before chucking them into situation where they must then interact with others, it makes it more fun to see situations develop from there on – or how I think anyway. So, this is a slow-burn fanfiction. I’m an idiot though so feel free to punch me. Anyway, I will shut up now. ❤   **IMPORTANT: Edited this chapter battling the beginnings of a migraine, I will come back tomorrow to clear it all up. I'm just disgusted with myself for uploading it and my writing it so poorly but I don't want to take it down. Please just accept my apology.**

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## Chapter 2: Chess, war and shared neurosis – I didn't ask for this either

You had been in your quarters scarcely a minute before deciding that accommodation for senior officers was about an inch up the corporate ladder when compared to your previous lodgings. Sterile walls confined a small space that contained only a single bed, wardrobe for your regulation clothing, and a work desk, all secured to the floor – as if daring to rearrange furniture was some grand gesture of disobedience and leap for individuality. A small ensuite at the back faced the side of the bed, and given your first impressions of the room, you figured it would be nothing to write home about. Inhaling sharply the filtered air of your sleeping quarters, you hobbled forward until you reached the bed and could at last flop down like the dead weight you felt; sprawling out on the ugly grey bedspread like a swatted fly.

“Ah, hello spring digging into my back, it’s been a while,” you muttered, trying to shift your body so the wire mesh of the bedframe didn’t completely impale your form. Still, there was something nostalgic about knowing that all of the officer beds were designed with sparring resources; quantity over quality and a consistency that was somehow homely. Unity through a bad night’s sleep – you thought humorously.

Staring at the grey ceiling, your (E/C) eyes were wistful and a bit narrowed as you tried to not be blinded by the fluorescent light above you. You were going to have your melancholic moment damn it since you’d just had the second worst day of your life; the first being when you were a child and wet yourself in public and decided the only sensible option was to strip naked and walk bare arse to the nearest source of water – you wondered if your father would ever let you live that one down. The General’s scowl dive-bombed into your head, his fierce expression etched into your mind and bringing back the feelings of all-consuming anxiety and shock that you were sure had shone on your face; someone may as well have taken a permanent marker and written ‘don’t look at me, you’re scary and I am awkward’.

Raising a slender hand above your body, you stretched your fingers out and held the palm just over the too-bright light, making it look as if you were grasping the sun or about to launch some glowing missile. Your other hand, just as lazy and sluggish, reached back and ripped the pillow out from under your head, slamming it over your face so roughly you were half dazed by its impact on your nose. Inhaling deeply, the hand that had been held up to the ceiling dropped and joined its twin at clutching the pillow.

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” The pillow did its job and muffled the shriek somewhat, but banging on the wall from next door signalled that it had still been loud enough to piss off your neighbours; or make them question your state of mind at least. Who cared right now, you were a mess and would scream your heart out in search of relief.

The irony of it all would have only deepened your anger and humiliation had it not been so poetic that all you could do was accept defeat and chuckle miserably. It was some unwritten rule you had decided, that drama always found you despite you never actively seeking it out – head down, eyes to the work in front, that was your motto.  

You had always been a somewhat neurotic person – perhaps due to your fathers doting and cushioning treatment, and growing up, what had been a paralysing fear of the unknown and inability to grasp common-sense situations, had warped itself into an all-encompassing shyness that made you come across as aloof and avoidant. Though you were generally polite and dedicated to your work and respectful to the chain of command, your fear of coming across as an idiot was often mistaken for a no-nonsense attitude that had cost you any possible friendships. Once an adult, you’d figured it was too late to change this and had given up on trying, choosing to operate yourself alone and just focus on being good at your job and nothing more; horrendously boring but acceptable none the less.

Or, at least that had always been the plan, for as mentioned despite your blasé attitude you were somehow a magnetic for the bizarre and ridiculous. One example of many always tended to crop up in your mind. When you were fifteen and still at the Academy, a boy had confessed his attraction toward you and implied he thought you were his soulmate; something that stunned you but touched your heart a little. But, as with everything you felt, this feeling amalgamated itself with your nervous disposition and you had come across as dismissive of his affections. ‘Prove it’, was your terse reply as you stormed away; your caution and bashfulness parading as pride back then. Reflecting, you wondered why you had later-on been so flabbergasted when the boy charged at you with a broken arm, all screams and accusation.  

Whispers circulated rapidly, saying he’d broken his arm by mistake during an attempt to get ‘mildly’ injured and prove you shared a bond – which of course didn’t work and was just some misguided boyish desire on his part. Nonetheless, these whispers turned into ugly rumours of you actually forcing him to purposefully break his arm and leading him along from the very start, knowing no red thread bound you – because you were a cold bitch, and that’s what you did. Fellow students were equal parts disgusted and scared of you from then on, reading into your every action as if you had some complex that meant you couldn’t wait to throw them under the bus and use their dead bodies as a bridge to success.

So, dwelling on your past, of course it would be the General that ended up your soulmate, nothing simple and straight forward ever happened to you. Swinging your body over so your knees were digging into the bed, pillow forced down where your head had just been, you began to slam your bawled fists furiously into the polyester material. “Excellent, this is great news, I am so happy.” The innocent bed that had never done you wrong began to creak and protest under your attack. “I can’t wait until we get married and have little angry children, oh it’ll be great, I am sure nothing bad can come of this. Thank you fate for bringing us together, I’ll order the dress now.”

A final punch to the pillow caused a slight plume of feathers to escape the beige cover, and now heaving with a mixture of anxiety, frustration and sheer embarrassment at what an idiot you’d made yourself out to be, you just stared absently down. “…I’m so going to die,” you huffed, blowing away the strand of wayward hair that had fallen in your face during the assault.

I’m changing the order of my list – you thought sombrely, stroking the bed in a futile attempt to rub out the creases. I’d take peeing myself and getting naked any day over this.

Pushing back so you sat with your knees hugged to your chest, you rubbed circles on your injured shin, an injury you knew he’d felt also. Soulmates bound by invisible red string – it had been the version you’d heard, but as with most stories it differed. Leaning up to grab the dangling light-switch, you flicked yourself into darkness and then slumped down to sleep, wondering is that string was strong enough to hang yourself with.

 

 

 

It felt as if you were gradually sinking, an uncomfortable pressure on your chest that was forcing your entire body down; just enough to be noticeable and have roused you from sleeping. Though the pressure seemed only applied to your torso, you felt unable to move even a finger in response, your entire body paralysed under a mysterious weight. You tried to talk – not yet panicking, and upon failing you instead attempted to open your eyes to see what exactly was forcing itself upon you. With each feeble attempt, you found your body unable to answer to the actions you were communicating. Am I in water, am I drowning? – you thought to yourself, too under the spell of dream-like catatonia to feel much for what was happening.

Abruptly, the tension above you became more forceful and aggressive and the weight on your chest began to push down and down until you felt your ribs begin to burn in protest, so much so you thought they might crack under the bulk. Whatever spell had been over you was rather prosaically slapped away; your hands lurched into action as you swiftly gained the ability to fight back at this unseen attacker. Driving open you (E/C) eyes to be greeted with darkness, your breath became laboured and frenzied as you tore out, panic-induced adrenaline coursing through your body like hot oil that splintered every bit of bone and sinew.

“H-help,” you managed to dryly bleat, your voice hoarse and spluttered. It hurt, hurt and petrified you beyond anything you had experienced in your life; this odd combination of cold and hot mass dripping into you and pooling around you in crazed intent – the feeling of true danger.

Still smacking your arms flimsily with as much strength as you could muster and now trying to peel your legs from the bed so as to knee up at whatever was doing this, you realised that it was in fact hands around your throat that were choking you and the dark mass you could see was an ugly twisted body lurched over, caging you down; knees dug into the mattress at either side of your small form, hips depressing the rest of you into the wiry bed.

I’m going to die, it’s killing me – you began to sob to yourself but refused to give up your assault of this beast despite the growing ache and deadness in your limbs. The pinching claws around your neck edged themselves tighter until you felt the ability to breathe finally being ripped away; your final gasp for air a desperate and pained cry. Blood rushed to your head and began to starve you of your senses, the pulse of your chest thrumming a deafening beat. The scent of alcohol hitting your face drew a little lucidity, but soon your vision began to swirl into a mixture of bright lights and stars – until you saw nothing.

 

 

 

Bolting up in the bed, you heaved and gagged so heavily you thought you might vomit. Sweat was dribbling down your face and patterning your chest; shifting on the bed, you felt with a shaky hand the body-shaped dampness that also laced your duvet. It was horrifying and the terror was still with you - like a hand encasing your heart, crushing it to the point of desperation. Raising a tense arm, you pressed your palm gently to your sternum and ran gently circles in an attempt to quiet its thunder.

“What, what was that?” You spoke openly, disturbed and shocked by what you had just experienced. Unsteadily, you shifted around in the covers and pushed yourself off the bed, nearly falling over when your jelly-legs wobbled in objection. With determination and the aid of the wall, you dragged yourself to the bathroom and fell into the side of the sink where you began to run some cold water. As the basin filled, you caught a glance in the mirror. You (H/C) hair was a mess, frizzy and wet from the nightmare and trying to pat it down, you realised you must have been thrashing for real. (S/C) skin had a sallow pallor and your pupils were unnervingly dilated. It reminded you of the time one of the neighbouring children had caught a small rodent in a trap, placing it on a fire out of morbid curiosity – the eyes of an animal facing death. Turning the tap off, you didn’t hesitant before dunking your head into the cold water and exhaling through your mouth and nose. Pulling back up from the depths, you then inhaled, feeling like the water had done its work and shocked your system into rebooting.

Leaning out of the bathroom and sparing the clock a glance, you realised you only had an hour until you were expected on duty. Though still weary from your bad night’s sleep, you refused to miss the first day of work and the opportunity to try and speak with General Hux, things needed to be cleared up after yesterdays confusion. A quick sniff of your clothing told you that a shower was more than necessary. Thus, slipping down your underwear and removing your night shirt, you re-entered the bathroom and began to forge a master plan in your head as to how you would approach your scary General of a soulmate.

 

 

 

Data-pad in hand, you marched toward the Bridge with an almost childish look on your face as you swiped a finger to re-open your timetable – it couldn’t hurt to double, double check. Lips pursed and cheeks sucked in, you looked nearly petulant strutting through the hallway. You rubbed your thumb across the highlighted name of the area you had been allocated to – The Bridge, obviously, and with a beaten ‘huff’ you clicked the thing close and slipped it inside your jacket. Your shower-forged master plan was now flushed down the drain since its success somewhat depended on a level of distance between you two; now it seemed you would have to think on your feet. An eloquent and logical approach was required, one that would not denote any level of desired-intimacy – less he get the wrong idea, but would equally not leave an uncomfortable tension between you two whilst working together.

“Respectful and professional, those are qualities I possess,” you muttered out-loud, figuring you wouldn’t have gained your position if it were otherwise. So caught up in your scheming, you took the next corner too sharply and hence glazed over the crouched figure sprawled down by an open vent; tools strewn around them, as you would quickly discover. You shoe caught a wayward wrench, booting it across the room where it then hit the opposing wall with a resounding clang that made the crouched person leap to alert and you pause in confusion.

“Hey that’s my wrench!” An angry voice said. Frozen mid-step, you turned to stare down at what you assessed to be one of the random technicians aboard the Finalizer.

“Oh?” Was your curt reply; you followed his line of vision over to where the wrench now lay in the middle of the floor. A few seconds went by before you realised exactly what he had said and it finally dawned on you what you had done. “Oh, sorry.” You marched over to collect the tool and bring it back to him, holding out the metal implement innocently, trying to hide your embarrassment behind a passive expression befitting of a senior officer who had interfered with another’s work.

The bespectacled man – who you could now see had strikingly blonde and possibly fake hair, snatched the proffered object before giving you a once over with his dark eyes. You felt uneasy under his gaze but said nothing, instead trying to force a reassuring smile on your face that implied you were apologetic. The technician said nothing and continued to glare you down, the intensity of his gaze causing the hairs on the back of your neck to prickle.

“Well, okay then,” you rapidly scanned the neon-orange vest for his nametag, “Matt, sorry for kicking your wrench.” It was a bland reply, but you meant it. Hoping that would settle things between you and allow you to leave without making a mortal enemy out of this man, you nodded and turned back to face the way you’d been going.

As you walked away, heat tickling your cheeks and an uneasiness in your gut, you heard Matt mutter something to your back that sounded like ‘Jerk face’. Well perfect – you thought, trying to increase the speed of your steps without making it too obvious; if you could sprint, you would have. Day one and you already have an enemy, an enemy who was strangely intimidating. Reaching the doors to the Bridge, you halted and allowed yourself a moment of composure. “Professional and respectful,” you whispered before marching through – head held high, and towards the tell-tale back of General Hux.

 

The General seemed aware of your presence as the doors closed behind you, his arms shifting from their stern backwards clasp to cross over his chest in what you figured was his way of being defensive. He made no move to acknowledge you, however, and instead continued his conversation with a shorter man you noted to be a lieutenant. While grateful for the fact he seemed to be following your line of thought and broaching the subject carefully, you couldn’t help but feel a little saddened by his lack of reaction – though what had you been expecting?

You remained still, allowing him to make the first move; you pegged General Hux to be neither an understanding man nor a man who appreciated someone overly asserting themselves. He’d probably think you were trying to exploit the situation and if the lieutenants inching away meant anything, it seemed the conversation was already over. 

Finally, the two parted and the lieutenant – looking a tad perplexed, walked past you and toward the exit; he side-eyed you curiously before leaving. Curling your fingers into your palms and calming your breathing, you saluted sharply as the copper haired man stepped around to face you. “General, Senior Officer (L/N) reporting, it is a pleasure to meet you and an honour to be-.”

“Quit with the formalities, (L/N),” his tone was sharp and cut you off effortlessly. Your eyes fluttered a little in surprise at the curtness, the small bout of self-possession you had previously beaten into yourself now sprinkled with fear. If you had been on a rug, you were certain this frightening man would have ripped it out from under you without hesitation. Off to a great start, you figured.

Hux tried to hold your gaze, his piercing eyes steady whilst your own began to flicker left and right in panic; you were too daunted to take part in this staring contest. Silence stretched out and you were reminded of yesterday where the tense quiet between you two had caused stares and coinciding rumours to circulate; you needed to respond rather than hit repeat. “An honour to be working under you, Sir...I mean with you, professionally…and respectfully, I have nothing but the utmost respect for you.” Stop talking, why are you still talking? A small voice inside your head shrieked, figurative hands trying to rip the spade from you and halt this desperate act of digging your own grave.

You pinched your lips together and ground your teeth, hoping he would offer a semblance of sympathy to your shared issue and save you from further demeaning yourself.

The corners of Hux’s mouth edged down into a grimace, the look on his pale face reading as one of irritation instead of compassion. “(L/N)”, he at last said. “Are you going to lower your hand any time soon?” He broke away from your face to glare at your up-stretched arm, still saluting him.

Horror hit you like a sledge hammer as he pointed out your frozen salute and a few chuckles from the side at your obvious discomfort made your face warm. You lowered your arm in a robotic manner until it hung limply at your side. You felt like you were going to cry, or scream, or maybe both. “I-I apologise, Sir.”

The General’s frown darkened – he did not look impressed, and as the tall man took a step forward to invade your personal space you twitched unwillingly but stayed your ground. You refused to insult him further by behaving like such a fool, because soulmates aside, he was still your superior and should be held with esteem. “(L/N),” the usage of your name caught your attention and you dared to look up. “Follow me now.” Without further explanation, Hux marched past you, brushing your shoulder as he went.  

There was no gesture to check whether you were following so it was apparent that this was a direct order, not an offer; you spun around and then paced to catch him. You were both going somewhere with such vehement determination that you apathetically wondered if he was already fed up and going to merely shove you into an escape pod and launch you into space – there could be a worse endgame, you supposed.  

Now walking inline beside him, you thought you caught sight of a slight rosy tint to his cheeks; you swiftly discarded that silly notion and blamed it on the fluorescent lighting of the hallway.

 

 

The walk had been uncomfortably silent - again, and though you rationalised that it had taken maybe 10 minutes to get to the General’s office, the lack of conversation made it stretch out into eons; there was an almost gloomy cloud over you both when the man entered his security details and guided you inside. Your eyebrows raised as you saw the interior and the realisation that his office was bigger than your sleeping quarters hit you. You made no comment though, instead standing uncomfortably to the side whilst your stoic companion graced over to his desk and took a seat.

Remaining stationary, unsure what he wanted with you, once more you felt that familiar palpable absence stretch over you both. The other seemed preoccupied with something on his desk and tilting up onto your tiptoes you realised he was scrolling through his personal data-pad; you felt almost insulted.

“Are you a droid, (L/N)?” Hux didn’t look up from the pad as he questioned you, the orange glow of the console adding a hue to his light face. There was no time to respond as he then answered his own question. “I think you are, for you seem unable to act without being issued a command.” The pad was shut off and placed behind him on a plain mantle-piece that you felt a little sparse considering their normally decorative nature. But then, the entire office seemed void of anything telling, his room was probably the same dull shade of vacant.

“No, Sir, I just did not wish to assume your intentions.” You felt it a good response and drew a little confidence from it, straightening your back and aligning your feet to face proper and forward. Hux’s mouth twitched a little and if you were not mistaken, you thought you saw the makings of a smile.

The General seemed unaware of this momentary expression as he subsequently gestured to the facing seat; dutifully, you obeyed and sat down. It made sense, having this conversation in private. The Finalizer was a beacon of pride and success within the First Order, its crew holding themselves to a high standard of competence and decorum. But that did not denote an absolute level of homogeny; the walls had ears and bored minds adored latching to gossip that then spread like wildfire. General Hux would of course be privy to this, hence the confidentiality over what could be the greatest bit of information to trickle its way down the corporate grapevine.  

“I appreciate being given this opportunity to speak with you openly on this matter, General, for I too neither wish for this to become public knowledge or a liability, I…I have nothing but admiration for your position and dedication to the First Order.” Your words flowed with moderation and poise, finding yourself getting a bit more self-assured in his presence now that the cards were on the table.

But Hux just gave you a quizzical look, and then leaning forwards to rest his chin atop laced fingers, he made you doubt your convictions once more. He appeared to be assessing you, possibly looking for signs of deception, but you remained firm; hopefully he believed you and did not think you the type to snatch this gem of an advantage and manipulate him.

“(F/N),” the application of your first name made your stomach twist, whatever he was about to say would no doubt be imperative; steadying yourself, you prepared to stay calm. “I presume you’ve played chess before?”

“Wait-what?” Of all the things you expected, this had not been one and your battle plan was destroyed in seconds as the astonishment practically dribbled from your face; (E/C) eyes wide and your mouth hanging open. A fish out of water.

General Hux raised a slender arm and pointed a finger down, following it you spotted the checked board between you two – how had you missed that? Looking back up, you grinned goofily and tugged at some strands of your (H/C) hair, twirling it around your fingers.

“Oh, chess, well, I mean I played it once in the academy…against myself, but it was fun. I did lose though, heh.” You shrugged your shoulders casually and displayed your palms in an open wave, laughing gracelessly at your own silly little joke. Hux on the other hand did not seem to share in this humour and instead narrowed his eyes, forcing you to slump your shoulders and drop your hands back down. 

Clearing his throat, he gathered the chess pieces from the side and started placing them on the board one by one, his every motion making you curl further and further in on yourself. It seemed you had no choice but to play this game, and as the red-haired General placed the ivory queen in front of you, it sort of felt like a declaration of war. The man then proceeded to sit back with his arms intersected, his gaze fixated downward. “Ladies first."

You gave your first move little thought and nudged one of the pawns guarding the left rook forward two spaces – if you remembered correctly, that was allowed. Hux matched your move promptly, moving the pawn shielding the king forward one space; he did not seem overly engrossed in the game, confirming your suspicions that this was about more than chess.

“How is your shin, (F/N)?” His gloved hand pulled back to rest on the table where he began to tap his finger lightly.

“It’s fine, thank you for asking, just a bit bruised.” You tried to harmonise with his nonchalant attitude but him bringing up the shit-show that was your entrance yesterday left you more than a bit frazzled. Again, you (S/C) cheeks flushed. Shaking away the humiliating memory, you started assessing the board, trying to see if you could figure out what he was doing; it didn’t make sense to move a piece shielding the king so soon.  Obviously missing something, you moved your left bishop-hiding pawn forward.

“I see,” was Hux’s brief reply; on cue, he wasted no time in acting, drawing the queen out three spaces so it was next to his pawn. “This,” he paused, seeming to consider his words. “Thing between us.” Looking up from the chess game, your throat let out a muffled gurgle as you noticed he was rather preoccupied with your face, a similar look to the one he wore yesterday currently staring you down. “It requires some ground rules.” You found yourself nodding in agreement. “Limited contact is a necessity – we shall only communicate when our roles require so, otherwise you are to keep your distance and neither refer to me or converse with me. Your move.”

“Yes, Sir, I would never think to – oh, sorry.” Reaching out, your hand wavered over the pieces. You’d never professed to be good at this game but for some reason you wanted to appear fairly competent. Taking the left-hand knight, you moved it behind your pawn, daring a look up again to see if you could tell whether that move was a good one. The General’s face was unreadable, so you looked back down and recoiled your arm.

“Should you avoid all unnecessary contact and never breath a word of our 'shared moments', your role here shall be secure - but I will not allow your superficial connection with me to lead elsewhere.” Ensnared by such a condescending tirade, you missed his queen storming forward and taking your pawn; an exacerbated breath escaped your mouth.

“I wouldn’t wish for that either, General.” Your response came out a little harsher than you had intended, but you were insulted by Hux’s assumptions that you were intent on pursuing this soulmate fiasco; not to mention that the blame had somehow been pinned solely on you. Yes, of course you had the ability to control fate – you inwardly squirmed at the word ‘fate’, finding the idea of you and Hux being fated for one another, unnerving.  

Before you could respond to the loss of your pawn a low beeping from behind the General halted you both. The previously discarded data-pad was blinking for attention. There was zero acknowledgement as your opponent dismissed himself from the game – from you, and grabbed the object, activating the screen and staring blandly at the message. The General let out a low sigh before responding, standing up and circling around the desk to tower over you.

“It seems we shall have to continue this at a later date, so if you wouldn’t mind, (L/N).” Hux nodded to the door; he then returned to reading the email.

Pushing out of the chair, you bowed your head and obliged his request, pacing quietly to the exit where you froze. “Erm, Sir.” You angled your head a bit, just enough to check if he had heard you. “I look forward to it.” And with that you left, making it three steps out the door before you broke out into a despairing sprint.

‘Continue at a later date’, ‘I look forward to it’ – charging over sterile tiles you didn’t stop until your lungs threatened to give out. The General confused you – scared you, but confused you more. You felt pushed to the brink by his behaviour and it filled you with a vomit worthy cocktail of frustration and befuddlement. Your emotions were all over the place and he was to blame.

Firstly, he lays down some ground rules and damn near threatens you not to come near him, but then he leaves your chess game an open-ended invitation; and how could you forget yesterday where he had gawked at you in what you’d thought was captivation. What was his game? – you mused grimly, slowing down until you came to a halt; you leaned against the wall with your arms protectively across your chest. It must have been some control tactic, a way to still keep you at arms-length but with just enough remaining hold that he could snap your neck if desired.

What an arsehole. Forcing yourself to walk again, you wondered if the people at the Bridge knew you’d been held hostage for the past half an hour or if they had been looking for you, thinking you had the audacity to shirk your duties on day one. Reaching inside your jacket, you pulled out your own data-pad angrily. Flicking it on, you then began to furiously scroll through some of the literature available for download, hoping that they had some good books on chess strategies.

If he wanted a war, you’d give him one.

 

* * *

 

Authors Note: I am deceased, my soul has left this mortal coil and transcended into the ether. Honestly, that chapter was so hard to write (I kinda hate it, I'm sorry) but hopefully I have done some justice and people like where it is leading, because let’s be serious…who are these jokers kidding? Also, apparently, data-pads are iPads in my mind, that’s a thing now – there’s a First Order Apple shop somewhere with stressed out 20-somethings.

Katie, I want to thank you for proof reading my work, for listening to me mope about my work, for slapping me for being paranoid about my work, and telling me to just ‘write what I want to read’ (‘That’s why Hux’s hair is so big, it’s full of secrets…). Thank you, boo X. Oh, and I have uploaded a tracker on my profile so you can see how the chapters are progressing if that interests you – it’s just a little something. Anyway, I’ve planned everything up to chapter 6 so I know where this is heading – kinda. Stay beautiful you guys. God ah luv ya.


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